Remember?
by ChildrenoftheBarricade
Summary: While Enjolras is sleeping, Combeferre remembers. He thinks back on all the years they have spent together, good times and bad. Fluffy E/C


**A/N: OK, so I was entirely unprepared for Ferrejolras week. I was unaware that such a thing existed, but since it evidently does, I made a contribution. But since I wrote this extremely last minute, this oneshot is in lieu of any other chapters this weekend. I really need to write more... Anyway, in case it's not entirely clear, Gabriel is Courfeyrac, Nic is Joly, David is Bossuet and Chris is Bahorel. I might write some of these memories as seperate oneshots, or just do a multichapter based on this. **

"I love you, Julien," you mumble, arms around my waist. It's the only time you'll say it, when you're wiped out and half asleep. But that's OK. I don't need constant reassurance. I know you love me. And I'm happy enough to see you like this, curled up in my arms. You've barely slept in two days, working on some piece of classwork while trying to keep Gabriel from failing classes. I keep nagging you about it, but I know you won't change. If I'm honest, I don't want you to. You wouldn't be our Apollo if you changed your mind that easily.

You're asleep now, breathing deeply, head on my chest. I run my fingers through your golden curls, spread out across my skin. It's getting to the colder part of the year, when I want to wrap you up in blankets and protect you from the ice and frost, but I don't need to. You're blazing hot against me, the fire in your spirit warming you. When we first lay together like this, I was terrified that you had caught some fever, but you laughed off my concern, convinced me you were fine. You were, of course, but I soon learnt you were a talented liar when it came to your health. You wouldn't have a day off unless you were at death's door. Sometimes, I love you for your stubborness, but I have developed hypochondria to rival Nic's when it comes to your health.

It's been a long time since you were ill. Last time, you ended up in hospital, and scared the life out of me. You were so sick that the hospital called your parents, and you spoke to them for the first time in years. All those old arguments between you seemed pathetic in light of the situation, and you ironed out the problems. I was so sure that I was going to lose you. But you weren't the sort to die in bed. You never will be. I should have had more faith in your will to live.

Did you know that there was a time, cher, when I believed you were having an affair? I could not believe that a boy as beautiful as you was content with chastity. I was a stupid jealous fool, and I never said a word, never thought to ask you. But those looks between you and Gabriel, every inside joke and casual touch drove me mad. I confronted him, and we argued for a long time. I not only nearly destroyed us, but him and Jehan as well. I don't remember much of that night - I'd had a few too many - but I do know it ended with Gabriel consoling me as I wept over my own foolishness. I never could handle my drink. I came home to find you in this bed, fast asleep, clutching my pillow in my absence. How could I have ever thought such a thing of you? You are innocent and pure in every way.

We lie together chastely, as we have done every night. You want nothing more, and I want nothing but your happiness. You don't want carnal pleasure, satisfied enough to lay in my arms like you are doing now. Gabriel teases you for it, but you don't take it to heart. After all, you're quick enough to return the affectionate insults.

You and I, we have made it through everything. We were children together, running around the Mediterranean beaches together. We grew up together. I remember how you cried when your parents sent you to boarding school, and begged to follow you. It's where we met Gabriel. The two of you are as close as brothers. That used to upset me, but I understand now. The connection you have with him is entirely different to what we share. I have no reason to envy him. He will not take you from me.

And after school, we went to Paris, and then here, to London. Here is home now. I know that you still pine for Paris on occasion, but you like it here, and you can visit Paris whenever you like.

It is the only aspect of the past you cling to. For the most part, your gaze is fixed on the future. It is rare that you fall prey to nostalgia, but when you do, you fall hard. The first time we went back to Paris, you didn't want to come back. When we got back to London, I remember how upset you were, that you cried for hours. You swore me to secrecy when you'd recovered, and I agreed, rather reluctantly. I don't understand why you hate to be seen crying. You, mon amour, are the personification of passion. With that, inevitably, comes passionate pain. You can't bottle up your emotions half as well as the others believe. Physical agony seems to have little effect over you - you didn't make a sound when Chris broke four of your ribs and your arm when you were boxing once.

But you couldn't contain your grief when your sister was killed in a car accident. Amelie was the only one of your family who supported you through everything, and her death broke your heart. You still can't bear to say her name. Maybe you never will.

I don't want to think about the sad times, though. I've known you all your life, and while you've seen tragedy, you were blessed with good fortune as well. Young, beautiful, rich, talented, intelligent... The list goes on. Some god is watching over you, and I doubt they would let you down now.

It is not only your supposed weaknesses you keep quiet. I doubt any of our friends have heard you sing or play the violin, which is a terrible shame. You are not only Apollonian in your looks, but your musical talent. We used to play together, you on the violin and me on the piano. Do you remember that, I wonder? You and I have always been inseperable. If I have any say in the matter, we always will be. I have given you my life, and accepted yours in return. I have given you so much of myself that to leave you would be to leave myself behind, and I am certain that you feel the same.

We are far from perfect, I know that. We argue, and have threatened to leave one another before. I left you once, not long after Amelie died. It was some petty argument that spiralled out of control, so I went to stay with Nic, David and 'Chetta for a while. It destroyed me. And when I came back, you were in a pitiful state. I could never do that to you again, or myself. Perhaps it is unhealthy for us to rely so wholeheartedly on one another, but I won't change, not for anything.

My mind swirls with a thousand memories of you and me, the years we've spent together. Maybe you can sense that even in your unconsciousness, because you wake up. With a half-asleep mumble, you look at the clock. Realising the time, you hit me with a pillow.

"Julien, it's 4am," you groan, then settle back on to my chest. I fiddle wih your dishevelled curls. You got them cut a few days ago, and they reach a few inches past your shoulders. At their longest, you could almost sit on them. To my relief, you don't look annoyed at being woken. Your body functions remarkably well with very little sleep, but I still feel a little guilty for waking you.

"I'm sorry. I was thinking."

"Thinking? About what?"

"Us. You. Me. Reminding myself of how much I love you."

"I love you too," you murmur, gazing up at the dark ceiling as if you can see the stars beyond. Orion was always your favourite constellation, for some unfathomable reason. We spent many nights stargazing, and I taught you how to recognise all the constellations. When Amelie died, you told me that if you were Apollo, she must be Artemis and had returned to guard the moon. While that may be stretching the truth, I have no doubt that your big sister is watching over you, along with whatever god that guards you. I know that neither of us are going back to sleep tonight, and I see no harm in indulging in a little nostalgia.

"Valentin?"

"Hm?" You're still in that adorable phase in between waking and sleeping, that soft, gentle childlike state. The memories are even sharper, my mind drawn to when you were still a child. I press a kiss to your forehead and settle back against the pillows.

"Do you remember that time when...?"


End file.
